


What I've Done

by hopefulundertone



Series: I Am You [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alcohol, Bars, Dancing, Depression, Drinking, Kissing, Loss of companions, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 10:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1548134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefulundertone/pseuds/hopefulundertone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy and Rory drag the Doctor to a 52nd century bar, where he meets his tenth regeneration and shenanigans and dancing ensue.<br/>~<br/>They meet again after Manhattan, this time in an older bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I've Done

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter's based on Troublemaker by Olly Murs. Go listen to it.Title's from Linkin Park, also listen. What I've Done does have s darker tone to it, which will make sense in the second chapter.

Troublemaker

 

This is entirely Amy's fault. The Doctor is completely convinced of this fact, as he stands in the doorway of the 52nd century bar. Some things never change. Among them is the need for a legal drug to suppress all one's problems for a while; also known as alcohol. He doesn't really like alcohol, it doesn't go well with this regeneration, or maybe that's just the bad memories he's trying to forget, memories of waking up with no recollection of who he was, memories of days of stony silence from the Tardis (she doesn't approve of drinking), memories of a rawer, more vulnerable self. But he doesn't dwell on those anymore, not since-  
Well, maybe one drink. To take his mind off of these things.   
He strolls over to the bar, considering the hypervodka wistfully (oh, Jack) before ordering some banana concoction; close enough to a daiquiri. He doesn't particularly care, as long as it doesn't have too much alcohol. It was already going to be hard enough to get a smashed Amy and Rory back to the Tardis without the added disadvantage of being drunk himself. 

"Hey." And honestly, he could just slap himself for not expecting this. What did he think, that the universe was going to give him one night's rest? God forbid that ever happen. He turns reluctantly, because it would be rude not to and also because he is curious as to what it feels like to stare into a face he once wore. It's even more surreal than he would've thought, he muses, raking his eyes over the spiky hair and eager, slightly clouded brown eyes, right down to the tan overcoat that fits him so perfectly, and the familiar pinstriped suit, and then red Converse. His tenth regeneration beams down at him, flopping into the adjacent seat. It's at this point that his drink arrives, and he only wonders whether it would be better to handle the situation sober before downing half the glass; how much worse can this get?   
Much, much worse, as he finds out a minute later, when his younger self sticks out a hand. He can't help admiring the hand; he can't really appreciate his features when he's in the body, but looking at the long, slim pale hand that's outstretched, and the nimble fingers that he can imagine- no, just shake his hand. He does, and Ten's already wide grin stretches even further. "I'm the Doctor." He looks up at Ten, wondering what to say. Should he lie that he's someone else? Or should he tell the truth, knowing that Ten won't remember a thing either way; he doesn't, at least.   
"John." He shrugs, watching Ten carefully. There isn't a reaction, except ordering another two rounds, but he can't help wondering how hammered his younger self is planning to get. Generally, 6 hypervodkas is almost enough to override Timelords' enhanced resistance to alcohol, and he's had quite a few more, the Doctor can tell.   
For some reason, he winds up staring at Ten. He swears he was looking for Amy and Rory, but somehow his gaze is caught on Ten, who is worrying at his (extremely biteable, red) lip and his tongue darts across his lips for a second. Somewhere, in the smallest corner of his mind that remains rational, he is staring in disbelief at the universe (his own self, really!?), but right now all he can really focus on is how much he wants to run his hands through the spiky, soft hair that sits abundantly on Ten's head, and how much he wants to snog himself out of his mind.  
He thinks about this for a minute or two, downing another glass or three of whatever he ordered, but by the third cup his head is buzzing pleasantly, and he isn't sure how much time has lapsed, but suddenly Ten's hand is in his face again, and he takes it, despite not being sure whether he has the strength to stand, and follows the lithe man through the crowd onto the dance floor. Maybe another night they could have dominated the dance floor (and indeed, on another night they do, using questionable moves banned in more than three galaxies, but spoilers is the word, if I'm not mistaken), but for tonight, they stay in the inner circle, where the music is moderately deafening, but there are less gyrating bodies rubbing against them in a frenzy.  
Somehow, they're dancing. Of course, the Doctor knows how to dance, thanks to River, but as he watches Ten's movements flow, converses sliding smoothly along the floor, he's more than content to observe. Unfortunately, that's not what's on Ten's mind, because in a moment, he's dragged next to the pinstripe-suited man, and they move together, as if their very heartbeats are in time with the music.   
Ten seems to be on a rush, of what the Doctor can't tell, but he doesn't really care. Back and forth, using all kinds of dance steps and the Doctor smiles because this is actually starting to be fun.   
And now they're in the back of the dance floor, where it's more walls and darkness than music and flashing lights, and the Doctor's head is pounding, probably a mix of the drink and the paradox that he is convinced must be tearing apart the fabric of reality. Oh well. 

The Doctor looks up to see Ten's eyes, and some part of his brain which is still functioning notes the darkened brown and dilated pupils, before Ten starts talking. He only realises his younger regeneration is holding his wrists when he traps them against the wall. In fact, Ten's entire body is trapping him to the wall, and their proximity is... distracting, to say the least. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?" His eyebrows furrow, and he stares hazily at Ten, uncomprehending. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice the double heartbeat? Or the paradox warnings?" He gulps, and tries to break free, but Ten's grip, strengthened by alcohol, is like a vice, and he can't move. This is shaping out to be a great night, isn't it? He can't help but lick his lips at Ten's low, sultry tone, but he's a little worried, to say the least.   
"Tell me you've never wanted to try this."  
 And then Ten's lips are on his, and they feel so perfectly moulded to his, and his back is against the wall suddenly, and his lips are being attacked with a bruising force (he'd like to think he gave as good as he got, but well). He nibbles on Ten's bottom lip for a second, swiping his tongue teasingly around the soft inside of his mouth. And then a familiar tongue is probing his mouth, and Ten's chest is flush with his own, and he can't help but moan, because his hands are tangling in Ten's hair and he can feel those long slim fingers gripping his hips, dancing across his- oh.   
Oh.   
The Doctor sucks in a sharp breath and looks up at Ten, who is smirking at his obvious interest, and he attempts to suppress a moan. Ten's wandering fingers haven't stopped, and they appear to be creeping around his waist to cup his arse. Well, two can play at that game. He quickly matches his hips to Ten's, roughly grinding and eliciting a groan. He swirls his tongue into and around the familiar mouth, exploring it thoroughly, still fisting his hands in Ten's hair. When he opens his eyes, he notes with some smugness that Ten's eyes have noticeably darkened. Still got it. Lifting Ten's slim hand to his mouth, he sucks on a finger, licking the pad slowly, savoring the taste and watching Ten's head tilt back with a quiet moan. "Let's get out of here. Yours or mine?" He's rewarded with a dark grin. "One and the same, aren't they? But, companions?" The Doctor scans the room for Amy and Rory and see Rory desperately trying to fend off a drunk lady, assisted by an even drunker Amy.   
"They'll be fine." And with that, they wind through the crowd and out into the purple night of Xenozk, and onto a Tardis, neither is sure whose. It's one of the best nights the Doctor has ever had in this regeneration, and that coming from River Song's husband is saying something.

Of course, Amy and Rory are not fine, and in the morning, after Ten leaves (not without snogging him thoroughly first, again leaving the Doctor in a bit of a daze), he finds them hiding on a rooftop from an angry gang of Xenozkians, whom the Doctor somehow manages to antagonise even further. He blames that on Ten, whom he is convinced must have thrown him off his stride.   
Then again, as he muses, feet flying down the dirt road towards the Tardis, Amy and Rory on his heels, it was totally worth it. 


End file.
